


Parlay

by honeynabisco



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: M/M, first fanfic in almost a decade so I thought I might as well get obscure with it, if that makes sense, its somewhere between mentioned and implied, they have sex but not explicitly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29059089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeynabisco/pseuds/honeynabisco
Summary: They had that in common too, it seemed. Van Helsing was not so simple either. He was, in fact, so convoluted at times that he could not comprehend his own mind or its desires.
Relationships: Count Dracula/Abraham Van Helsing, implied Quincey Morris/John Seward
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	Parlay

Seward vehemently opposed his accepting the invitation. This was not particularly surprising from him as, for all his intellect, he lacked sorely in imagination; practical to an occasionally aggravating fault. Lord Godalming likewise seemed to be preparing himself to protest, but his confidence faltered until his only real action was to take a neutral stance. Again, unsurprising. What was interesting was how Morris sat in silent contemplation while the others argued or wavered and when they had each either said their piece or failed to, he took his turn and gave his approval. It wasn't permission that was needed, of course, Van Helsing was surely the leading figure of their group, but Mr Morris' role was not insignificant and his support was not expendable. This was only reinforced by Seward's change in attitude so that he was suddenly rather willing to be influenced, though he attempted to hold some amount of pride as he partially retracted his previous opposition.

Godalming's loyalty lied with Morris, and it was difficult for Van Helsing to know whether Seward's didn't also, but what a strange thought that was to have. Why should Seward have any need to assign absolutes? Why ever should he be unable to be loyal to both his mentor and his partner?

Morris, it seemed, was interested in finding an answer to that question and moreover, he seemed confident in his position in a way that made Van Helsing believe that he truly did hold Seward's highest regard. His approval of the plan sounded much less like agreement than it did a test. He watched Van Helsing carefully, as Van Helsing watched him closely in return, but why exactly they each did this, neither knew for certain. Suspicion born of some evolutionary false bravado? The instinctual butting of heads between two naturally dominant leaders? That was the simple answer, and perhaps the most understandable one, but Van Helsing knew that it wasn't quite the correct one. Morris wasn't quite so simple a beast. They had that in common too, it seemed. Van Helsing was not so simple either. He was, in fact, so convoluted at times that he could not comprehend his own mind or its desires. He thought, with a strangely juvenile bitterness mixed with an almost parental pride, that Morris was right to be so interested in testing him.

With Morris' position secure and Van Helsing feeling as though his own was relatively less so, the professor could by no means opt out of the exam. He played it casually, agreeing with Morris that he ought to see where the invitation leads. It could be, as Morris had disinterestedly argued whilst checking the sharpness of his blade, a priceless method of gaining crucial information. What could tell them more about the Count than a face-to-face meeting with the man himself? The professor really ought to accept the Count's invitation to meet alone.

With Van Helsing's decision, Seward and Godalming fell mute and anxious, and Morris only kept his impassive guard.

The next question then was how exactly to meet the Count. The letter had given no time or address, but merely proposed the meeting. The answer did not take long to find. So soon as the professor had said aloud that he intended to accept the Count's parlay, the encounter was determined. Van Helsing made the mistake of blinking as he next walked through a doorway so that his eyes opened to a room that was far from the halls of the asylum and he was unable to determine what had happened in the fraction of a second that he had been blind. He had been transported clearly, but he did not know to where and could not begin to work through how.

The room he was left standing in was dimly lit by an innumerable quantity of long candles fixed in the air with nothing to hold them up. He was under the impression that it was a rather small space, yet the light was not sufficient to see the floor or walls by, only illuminating a round table at which two empty chairs sat. Slowly, Van Helsing began to process what had occured and with great care he selected one of the chairs to sit at, ensuring that his movements were both fluid and controlled. He knew that he was being watched and closely at that.

_"Professor…"_ the Count's baritone sounded before he appeared, as though his voice emanated from inside of Van Helsing's skull. _"I am so very glad to see that you have agreed to meet me. I feared you would think to deny me such esteemed companionship."_

The voice in his head was dizzying, doubly so along with the emotions that such a deep and intimate sound inspired, but Van Helsing refused to be shaken. He wondered if the Count could hear the beating of his heart to know that all serenity was a facade. "I cannot meet someone who is not here."

At his next blink, the Count appeared already seated directly across from him. As his chest tightened, either from anxiety or something else, Van Helsing realized he'd never seen the man so close. The Count was truly a captivating sight which alone made it difficult to think and Van Helsing understood viscerally how his victims had been preyed upon without the ability to resist. His silhouette was confusing as the inky blackness of hair that cascaded down around his face and shoulders blended perfectly into the dark of the surrounding room so that where the Count ended and the darkness began was indeterminable. The hard, straight lines of his face were striking in the shadows created by candlelight, though regal and softened by the smoothness of his skin. However, it was most surprising to note that despite his apparent immortality, his face was aged as though he were middle-aged at the very youngest. The lines at his eyes, mouth and between his brows made him look like a man that Van Helsing would stand at equal footing with, not a being several centuries his senior.

"I have heard that you are fond of this drink," the Count's voice now came from his lips and Van Helsing noticed a cup of chocolate had at some point been set before him.

"Perhaps, but you admit it would be an interesting decision to accept a drink from an enemy," Van Helsing said without moving.

"Ah, but you are an interesting man, my friend," the Count smiled in a way that was very nearly sweet and very wholly dangerous. "That is why I wanted you here, you see. That is why I want you."

The directness of such a statement might have shocked Van Helsing, but he was not so startled as he was when he first saw the Count appear. In fact, he was growing quite comfortable despite himself. He hummed in false disinterest and took the cup in front of him, being careful not to evaluate the dark liquid for very long before he took a substantial drink. There was nothing odd about it. It was rather good, actually. A pleasant combination of sweet and bitter.

"Ah… so you see, professor? See how interesting you are," the Count said with a strange and profound joy in his tone that could have come only from watching Van Helsing accept even that small offering. "Tell me, though I know already, tell me how you feel of me."

Van Helsing took his time to set his cup down and think perhaps longer than he truly needed to, just to keep the Count's anticipation centered on him. It was so strangely pleasurable to know he had captured all of someone's attention. Not just someone, on second thought, but someone intelligent, ancient, and powerful.

Finally he said quite calmly, so calmly that it felt like a lie, "I feel that you are evil and unforgivable so that you must be destroyed."

The Count was gone, or his chair at least was empty.

It took only a second to realize that he was simply standing behind Van Helsing now, his clawed fingers brushing along the professor's throat. He leaned close so that the sound brushed against Van Helsing's ear when he asked in a whisper, "and?"

"And what?" Van Helsing said in a voice that continued to sound uncaring despite how his head tilted to allow the Count to draw near to his neck.

"You are teasing me, professor, I know what you think more of me… tell me. Why do you not tell me how interesting you feel that I am?"

"Perhaps I do find some fascination to be had in you, but what of it? You must die, it is necessary." The words were harder to say than they had any right to be.

"But is it necessary tonight?"

Van Helsing bit his tongue to stop himself from saying no. He said nothing instead, not trusting that the word wouldn't come out of his mouth.

Displeased with the silence, the Count hummed and trailed the light touch of his claws down to press just under Van Helsing's collar. Then his advances stopped and he pulled back by only an inch, as if to threaten retreating fully. It was a threat that held more power than it should have.

"I want you. I have said as much and as much is true. I get what I want, but I will not get it against my pride, for I am a man of great hubris. I want you, Abraham, to give yourself to me."

Van Helsing laughed, "yet you claim to get what you want always? You must be rather confident, as you say."

"Of course," the Count toyed with the edge of Van Helsing's collar, "I know that you feel I am interesting."

"I need information," Van Helsing said and it was out of place enough to give the Count pause.

"Information?"

"Perhaps I will give myself to you. Perhaps I will even desire to do so, as I am certain you will wish, but my companions will doubt me if I return to them with nothing."

The Count was very displeased with this, evident by the way his hand suddenly flexed around Van Helsing's throat, holding but not quite squeezing, "what use have you of such tiny creatures? Interesting you are, professor, but I do not understand your preoccupation with them. Do you not see how much power you could have with me? Do you not understand how much I would give for you?"

"I know well what you would give for me and I ask for information."

A beat passed as the Count thought, "then shall I tell you how to end an existence so wretched as my own?"

“I know how to kill you already,” Van Helsing sounded confident, and he had been only a moment ago, but he knew that the Count was well aware of his knowledge and he doubted that he was being toyed with, at least in this way.

The Count laughed softly and deeply from his chest, “do you know how to kill me? Or do you know how to kill lesser creatures who present an only vague reflection of me?”

Van Helsing was silent. He was unsure how different the Count was from the others, but knew that he was a considerable variant on what was standard.

Taking his silence to be a concession, the Count continued. Taking one of Van Helsing’s hands in both of his own, he placed it against his breast, about where his heart ought to beat, and said, “you may reduce me to dust with your ashwood and autopsies, professor, but that will scarcely be sufficient. I would only return for you, my so interesting friend… Dispose of my ashes into a stream, or any moving water so that they might be dispersed beyond any ability for me to find myself - and then you, I promise - though it would wound me to know how dearly you want me gone.”

Van Helsing was not being fooled. He pressed his fingers unconsciously against the chest they were placed over as if he could reach in and take the Count's heart out as simply as that. The Count was giving him a piece of information that he had not even thought to ask after; how to truly and irrevocably rid him from existence. The knowledge filled Van Helsing’s senses with mud, thick and impenetrable until he could not even think of what it could mean that the Count was so willing to admit this to him. He smiled, but the expression was tense and perhaps even pained. He had nearly hoped that the Count would fight him so that he would not be forced to confront his own vulnerabilities so directly. He had hoped deep down that he would never be in the position to admit his desires, especially not to himself. He should have known better than to take Morris’ exam and damn himself in this way. He should have known that his only true reason for doing so was for his own satisfaction. Dissuading the others’ suspicion didn’t rank.

"Good then," Van Helsing said, his tone barely remaining neutral to give so lame a response, "not necessary tonight, to answer your question."

The table was gone along with the other chair. The Count was in front of him, leaning over him so that black waves of hair made a curtain over their heads, blocking out the world at large. It was suffocating in a way that Van Helsing felt was strangely luxurious. The Count was smiling, satisfied and with a glint in the red of his eyes that made Van Helsing fall. "So tonight you give yourself to me?

"Yes."

Van Helsing felt something shift when he spoke, as if something had been pulled up from his chest and out of his mouth along with the word. He could understand why people chose to sell their souls to the devil if losing such a thing felt like this. Or perhaps it was simply the Count's frozen kiss that made his head so empty and so turned around.

Van Helsing had never quite found a match for himself, though his wife had come close. He was not so vain as to say it aloud, but his intellect had made it difficult for him to speak with anyone at an even level and he had grown tired of explaining; of diluting his thoughts or translating them just for the ease of other's comprehension. It was no major annoyance, but to those whom he had to speak simply, he felt a disconnect. He felt himself being constrained by the need to be digestible to the masses; watered down and over simplified. He could pretend to integrate, but it brought him no joy and he began to wonder if he could truly do it forever.

He realized as he felt the Count press against him, on him, into him and around him to the point where he could not tell whose limbs belonged to who, that the all too familiar feeling of dissonance was absent. With the Count, a man with centuries of learning, both old and now new, he felt a key click into a lock. It was a problem. It was addicting. It made him angry, which bleed into his sharp and nearly violent kisses.

Van Helsing hated him - hated him for being so close.

_"Stay with me, be mine so that I might be yours,"_ Van Helsing heard the Count's voice again in his head as each of their mouths were much too preoccupied to speak loud.

He didn't know if the conversation could work both ways, but thought his answer regardless, _"I would, you fiend, if you hadn't ruined us before we started- began with innocent blood spilled by your hand. You ruined it- you ruined me."_

If the Count received the message, he didn't pause to argue.

It was agreed, however silently, that Van Helsing was only the Count's for a night. After, they would go back to hunter and hunted, as if they had never been anything else. It was unlikely that the Count would give up on him, but he was patient when it mattered and settled for victory in this single battle of their ongoing war, which he was determined to win. Was the first success not merely a stepping stone towards subsequent triumphs? Van Helsing didn't know- he didn't want to think about it and when he did, it made his head spin in a much less pleasant way than the Count's kisses had.

Van Helsing woke up in the asylum looking much the same as he did before he had left it. He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep; he wasn't even sure what had happened leading up to it, but based on what pieces he could recall, he thought it miraculous that his skin was quite so clean and unmarked. He looked up to the ceiling from where he laid on his back on the floor of the conference room they had all frequently used. He didn't move for a long time and he didn't think. He was tired of thinking of emotions, the truly difficult things, wishing instead to be thinking of history or biology, or perhaps even alchemy had he the right partner for discussion.

When the others found him, he gave them the information he had been given and told them nothing else. He didn't have the energy to lie convincingly and so he instead merely shook his head at their questions, uncaring as to how this would only create a better breeding ground for suspicion.

Van Helsing was lonely - so horribly, irreparably lonely with a hole in his chest that ached to be filled but the throbbing of the empty space only produced enmity. He could not kill the Count himself, he would never be able to bring himself to, but he would get the others to a position in which they would do it for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I admit I didn't get the running water thing until going back to read Carmilla. Also, upon vanhelsingenthusiast's post recommending it, I watched the 1977 Dracula and was charmed by the idea that Van Helsing drinks cocoa. Find me on tumblr under the same username as this account's. I want to talk about books always.


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